


Enter With Abandon

by homoose



Series: Enter With Abandon [1]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:07:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27972092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homoose/pseuds/homoose
Summary: Reader accidentally orders three meal kit boxes. Spencer takes one off her hands.Warnings/Includes: nonea/n: I just love a good meet cute, you guys. This is part one of four. ☺️
Relationships: Spencer Reid & Reader, Spencer Reid & You, Spencer Reid/Reader, Spencer Reid/You
Series: Enter With Abandon [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2048723
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	Enter With Abandon

She had come to terms with the fact that she was a terrible cook. She’d grown up just above the poverty line, with parents who worked long hours on odd schedules. That meant that she and her brother had gotten by on a lot of PB&J, hot dogs, and TV dinners. They certainly didn’t learn how to prepare and cook meals. So when she became an adult, with a real job and an actual salary and without a college dining hall at her disposal, she began ordering _a lot_ of takeout.

It didn’t take long for her bank account to remind her that delivery four days a week was above her pay grade. As a compromise, she’d ordered a HelloFresh box. It was still kind of expensive, but it was a far cry from what she’d been spending on Postmates. She tried a Blue Apron box, and those were a little too advanced for her skill set, but she kept the account open just to look. HomeChef quickly became her favorite service— the meals were ridiculously easy and tasted pretty good once they were doctored up with various spices.

She had just started to level up into mediocre cooking territory when she came home to not one, not two, but three meal kit boxes in the mailroom. She frantically pulled up the apps to see that she had somehow missed the day to skip the box for the HelloFresh and BlueApron boxes that week. She now had _nine_ meals to cook in the next seven days (five when accounting for produce freshness).

She hauled the boxes upstairs to her apartment and pulled up the app to check what meals she had even ordered. The BlueApron recipes were thankfully not too difficult, and she opened the box and unpacked the ingredients into the fridge. She did the same with the HelloFresh box, actually excited to try out a mahi mahi recipe that she probably wouldn’t have been adventurous enough to pick on her own. The recipes in the HomeChef box were fine other than a cavatappi recipe she wasn’t too thrilled about, but she ultimately decided that there was no way she’d be able to cook everything from all three boxes without _something_ going bad.

Which is how she ended up in front of apartment 23, huffing out a breath. Apartments 20 and 21 had been… less than friendly. She’d never actually seen anyone enter or exit this apartment, so she wasn’t even sure anyone lived there. Still, she knocked three times and waited, box in hand.

There was some shuffling, footsteps, and the click of the deadbolt. She opened her mouth to start her spiel, but the sound died in her throat at the man in front of her.

Her neighbor stood in his doorway, all fluffy curls and glasses and stubble, and she forgot why she was even standing there. He was wearing a navy cardigan that looked incredibly soft, a white collared shirt underneath, the top two buttons undone, and heather grey slacks on his long legs. On his feet were mismatched socks— one bright green and the other rainbow striped.

“Can I help you?” he asked, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and drawing her out of her ogling.

“Oh— I, um.” She held up the box. “I’m your neighbor, um, unit 22. I—I do these um, meal kit boxes and I— well, I’m signed up for three different plans, and you have to remember to go into each individual app and skip the week if you don’t want a box delivered, and I thought I did that, but apparently I didn’t, and so now I have three meal kits and that’s way more than I need because I’m only one person so—”

She paused to suck in a breath. The very corners of his lips twitched into the start of a smile and she about spontaneously combusted. He waited for her to continue, one very cute eyebrow raised at her rambling. She gave herself a mental thrashing and a _get it together_ before continuing.

“So. I’m trying to give away this box, because I don’t want the food to go to waste. However, as it turns out, people are _not_ keen on taking food from a stranger, even when it’s in a sealed package from a reputable meal kit service.” She shrugged. “That said, um, do you want this box? Of food. For you.”

He huffed out a laugh. “I— I don’t know if I’m the best candidate for the box.” He bared his teeth sheepishly. “I’m not a very good cook.”

“Oh! Well, this is the easiest kit, actually. Like, they even pre-cook the pasta so all you have to do is add it in, which I think is kind of ridiculous because who can’t boil noodles? But you know, it’s good if you like, work long hours or whatever.”

He considered her for a moment. “Okay, I’ll take it.”

She was so shocked that he hadn’t closed the door in her bumbling face that her mouth dropped open. “You will?”

“Yeah, you convinced me. Do you wanna…?” He held his hands out and she nodded.

“Yeah, of course, sorry.” She handed him the box. “Thank you so much for taking it off my hands,” she said, dusting imaginary particles off of them. “My conscience feels a lot lighter knowing I won’t be contributing to our nation’s issue with food waste. Like, did you know that the average person throws away 219 pounds of food per year, and that most of that food gets sent to landfills where it decays and produces nitrogen pollution, which causes algae blooms and dead zones?”

He pressed his lips together. “I actually did know that.”

“Oh. Well. Good.” She crossed her arms. “It—It’s good that you know that, because, you know, maybe you’ll be more mindful of your own food waste.” Her eyes went wide and she held out an apologetic hand. “Not that I’m saying that you’re not mindful or anything. I just—it’s—it can be good to know things.” _It can be good to know things?!_

“It certainly can be good to know things.” His lips were turned up in the sweetest smile, golden eyes crinkling at the corners, and she didn’t even care if he thought she was a complete idiot, because she just wanted him to smile at her like that for the rest of eternity.

“Absolutely. Knowing things is… awesome.” She wished the floor beneath her would open up and drop her straight into hell. “Okay. Well, bye.” She turned and took two steps, then did a 180 just as he was closing the door. “Oh, just— you might wanna add more spices than they write in the recipes. I think they write them with the intention of being kind of bland to appeal to a wider audience, but you know, they can end up being kind of… well, bland.”

He smiled again and she couldn’t stop staring. “Thanks for the heads up.”

“You’re welcome. Okay. Well, really bye this time.” She turned and walked as calmly as she could back to her apartment. When she heard the click of his deadbolt she dropped her head into her hand in complete and utter mortification at the sheer lack of chill she’d just exhibited. “What in the _actual_ fuck is wrong with you?”

…

It quickly became obvious why she hadn’t known if anyone lived there— because he was hardly ever home. She listened a little more purposefully to the footsteps on the stairs and the noises through the wall. She wondered if maybe he worked odd hours or had a significant other whose apartment he stayed at.

She was busy enough with work and cooking the other six meals that she had almost forgotten about the humiliating encounter with the man from apartment 23. By the following Friday, she was so tired from the week that she didn’t even glance at his mailbox like she’d been doing all week, _S. Reid_ scrawled across the label. She dragged herself up the stairs and across the landing, fishing her keys out of her bag.

She stopped in front of her door to see a small glass container sitting on her doormat. She looked up and down the hallway before bending to pick it up. There was a paper note taped to the top, written in the same chicken scratch from the mailbox. She saved the note, opting to pop open the lid on the pyrex to find four perfectly baked scones with some sort of citrus glaze. She balanced the dish in one hand and shuffled the note open with the other.

_I’m not a great cool, but I’m a pretty good baker. Thanks for the box._

_Spencer, Unit 23_

_P.S. You were right about the spices._


End file.
